The morning began with the quiet, deliberate kind of activity that only existed when a household had already decided its next destination. The Cosmopolis residence did not feel abandoned, not in the least. It felt prepared. The difference mattered. Ren stood in the foyer with a clipped bundle of paperwork in one hand and a list on his tablet in the other, while Fang moved through the house checking the final locks, security loops, and transport arrangements with the methodical precision of a man who trusted nothing unless he had personally verified it twice. The staff, already briefed, drifted through the lower levels with respectful efficiency. No one asked unnecessary questions. Everyone understood that this was a transition, not a departure.
Ren glanced towards the stairwell when Fang returned from the west wing. "Is the last of the security transfer complete?"
